118 WILD SGBNES ASD WILD HTJNTEKS. i 



in the many-visioned grate, but at times aware of the symbols 

 and emblems tbere beautifully built up, of tbe ongoings of 

 human life, when a knocking, not loud but resolute, came 

 to the front door, followed by the rustling thrill of the bell- 

 wire, and then by a tinkling far below, too gentle to waken 

 the house, that continued to enjoy the undisturbed dream of its 

 repose. At first we supposed it might be but some late-home- 

 going knight-errant from a feast of shells, in a mood "between 

 malice and true-love," seeking to disquiet the slumbers of Old 

 Christopher, in ezpectation of seeing his night-cap (which he 

 never wears) popped out of the window, and hearing his voice 

 (of which he is chary in the open air) simulating a scold 

 upon the audacious sleep-breaker. So we benevolently laid 

 back our head on our easy-chair, and pursued our speculations 

 on the state of affairs in general — and more particularly on 

 the floundering fall of that inexplicable people — the Whigs. 

 We had been wondering, and of our wondering found no end, 

 what could have been their chief reasons for committing sui- 

 cide. It appeared a case of very singular felo-de-se — for 

 they had so timed the "rash act," a,s to excite strong suspi- 

 cions in the public mind that, his Majesty had committed 

 murder. Circumstances, however, had soon come to light, 

 that proved to demonstration, that the wretched Ministry had 

 laid violent hands on itself, and effected its purpose by 

 strangulation. There — was the fatal black ring visible round 

 the neck — ^though a mere thread; there — ^were the blood- 

 shot eyes protruding from the sockets ; there — the lip-biting 

 teeth clenched in the last convulsions ; and there — sorriest 

 sight of all — was the ghastly suicidal smile, last relic of the 

 laughter of despair. But the knocking would not leave the 

 door — and listening to its character, we were assured that it 

 came from the fist of a friend, who saw light through the 

 chinks of the shutter, and knew, moreover, that we never put 

 on the shroud of death's pleasant brother, sleep, till " ae wee 

 short hour ayont the twal," and often not till earliest cock- 



